


in the sky with the fire below

by holtzmanns



Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Compliant, Feelings, M/M, but also GROWTH, general headassery but that's what you get with idiots to lovers babey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-27
Updated: 2019-07-27
Packaged: 2020-07-21 04:08:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19995613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/holtzmanns/pseuds/holtzmanns
Summary: Five times that Brooke doesn't know what to say, and one time that the words can't be held back.





	in the sky with the fire below

**Author's Note:**

> This was going to be a small 5+1 drabble, but somehow turned out to be much longer. I think it's one of my favourite things I've written to date. As always, thank you to writ and bean for being the certified Best™ and making writing so much fun. Title taken from 'Reforget' by Lauv.

**Five times that Brooke doesn't know what to say, and one time that the words can't be held back.**

**i.**

“We’re done.”

The two words knock him out one after another, caving in his chest like they’re anvils. They may as well be, from the way that he can’t breathe anymore, how the world feels slightly tilted off of its axis.

Vanessa looks at him with a challenge in his eyes, daring him to say something. To fight him, yell, plead, anything but what he’s doing now. 

But he doesn’t. 

Brooke is tired. Tired of the bickering, tired of being on completely different pages, tired of not being able to give Vanessa what he wants. Tired of not being enough, the way that he should.

Is it worth it? Is _he_ worth it?

He’s seen relationships fall apart around him. His friends’, his parents’, ones that start so promising and are recalled breathlessly with so much happiness. But only last for so long. 

The characteristics that people love about each other turn out to be the same ones that push them apart. Two sides of the same coin that can never quite land the way it’s supposed to. 

He thought waiting for the right time, the right guy, would keep him from it. From experiencing the way that a person can turn from being the most beautiful one in the room to one that needs to be avoided at all costs. He had thought that he’d found it, found a person that wouldn’t make him want to pull away. 

He was wrong. 

Vanessa had always said that he wanted someone to fight for him. To give him that romantic moment, the movie ending that makes the audience wish that they had packed a box of tissues when heading to the movie theatre. 

“So that’s it? You’re not gonna say nothing?” 

He doesn’t. 

_“Coward.”_

**ii.**

Oh, lord. 

“Well, wasn’t that just spicy!” His fellow queen that is co-hosting the viewing party looks positively _delighted._

The audience is cheering along with her, some of them yelling _‘Miss Vaaaanjie’_ because he’s never gonna be able to escape from Vanessa now, is he?

He should have remembered that this episode was going to be the first one where they kissed. Not even a kiss, just a light peck. Them fooling around in the workroom, smack dab in front of the cameras because they were having _fun_ , damnit. 

It didn’t even mean much, back then. They were just messing around. It was before things had _shifted_ and Brooke fell into it with his whole heart, only to be left in a bottomless pit that he’s still trying to escape from, to get back out of. 

He realizes that his co-host is looking at him with an expectant expression. “Well?”

Fuck. She must have asked something. “Uh, what?”

“There you have it, folks. That little kiss was apparently so good that it’s _still_ leaving her speechless. My, my, my, Brooke Lynn. Didn’t think you were the type to go after those cookies on national television.” 

The audience is cheering louder and louder, and it makes him wish that he could disappear into his chair, fucking vanish from the face of the planet. How many weeks of this does he have ahead of him? Of more than just a light peck on camera, of feelings and arms wrapped around each other and kisses that meant so much more than that first one and their lip sync against one another, when one half of his heart got sent home without him?

The ending of the commercial break feels like a lifeline, when the eyes that are focused on him shift towards the projector screen as the episode starts up once more. He breathes a sigh of relief when it appears that no one is looking at him, takes a swig of his drink.

He’s gonna have to think of some better answers. Some prepared ones that don’t leave him bumbling like an idiot, stuttering as he tries to answer questions about moments on television which barely scratch the surface of their relationship.

Past relationship.

He needs a cigarette. 

**iii.**

_‘Crazy in Love’_ is playing. 

It shouldn’t be a big deal - it’s usually not enough to make him even blink; the song is present in the music libraries of pretty much every bar that he goes to. 

But tonight he’s just finished a show in a bar in Tampa, and already thrown the last makeup wipe into the trashcan of the dressing room, packed up his drag. He’s ready to go home, really. 

Well. His hotel room. Not home. 

But _‘Crazy in Love’_ echoes over the speakers as he tugs his small suitcase out of the dressing room, past drunken partygoers and queens still in a half-state of drag. The beats, the setting, everything is so familiar; gives him a sense of déjà vu. 

September 2018. When Vanessa had a gig here at his home bar in Tampa and Brooke spent a whole day driving down from Nashville to surprise him. 

The noise of delight, the way that Vanessa had thrown himself into his arms and hadn’t wanted to let go had been worth it. 

Brooke had come to Vanessa’s gig, watched him get in drag and perform for loving fans. Had rained money on him because Vanessa deserved it, deserved to be appreciated, to be adored. 

They had made out in the very same dressing room, Brooke wiping the smudges of lipstick off of his own lips, slightly drunk but not enough to explain the giddy smiles on both of their faces. 

_‘Crazy in Love’_ had blared as Brooke helped Vanessa pack up his drag, looped an arm through his. They had gone through the same hallway, singing along obnoxiously off key and loud enough for a fellow queen to exclaim ‘ _Goddamn, shut the fuck up!’_

They had gone back to one of their hotel rooms, and for a few hours nothing had mattered - no flights to catch, no unsaid feelings, no timezone changes completely fucking up their systems. 

It’s different tonight. 

No Vanessa - just him, the way he’s wanted, right? The way it had seemed to just be easier, right?

Right. 

Brooke can’t really stop himself as he taps out Vanessa’s number with the pulsing beat of the music overhead. He needs to tell him about the song, where he is right now. He waits for it as it rings once, twice, three times. 

Listens as he doesn’t pick up. 

He steadies himself during the voicemail spiel _(“I’m not here, ho, leave a fuckin’ message, BYE”)_ , though it’s not enough to keep him from flinching during the resulting _beep_. 

The line crackles. He’s silent, watches the seconds pass by on the clock on the wall before the answering machine _beeps_ again, signalling that he’s run out of time to record a message. 

He doesn’t call again. 

**iv.**

Brooke can handle it.

The idea of touring with Vanessa and the rest of the season eleven cast had initially filled him with trepidation. Doing shows with Vanessa - not just one, where they’d kiki for only a few hours, but instead night after night. Travelling between cities by bus and plane and being around him all the time, in a way that they haven’t been since they were...well.

But it’s fine. They’re friendly, they are. Brooke believes it. He can talk to Vanessa without the telltale knife that’s been buried in his chest for the last few months twisting itself even more. Seeing Vanessa doesn’t make him want to run away, or smoke until his lungs crackle and burn they way that it did before. 

Oh, yeah. He’s cutting down on that, too. Not only because it’s bad for his health (he knows that, he does), but because it gives him something to focus on, to do. Something to control, to distract him. Somehow, as backwards as it is, he’s been holding on. 

He feels like he’s in a delicate homeostasis with Vanessa - a combination of elements that are unstable on their own, heading towards destruction, but when combined together create a strange balance, a calm, no matter how imperfectly they fit. 

Brooke’s able to joke around with him, have a normal conversation - so what if it’s a bit more of a surface level dialogue than he wants it to be, what does it matter?

They have a stability. It’s not perfect, but it protects not only their sanity, but that of their tourmates too. 

Brooke starts to believe that they’re gonna get through this tour in one piece.

That is, until Calgary. 

Brooke’s black catsuit sits around his waist and his pointe shoes dangle from his fingers. He has approximately 17 minutes until he has to be ready to go in the wings for his number, to step on after Ra’jah’s performance. 

But he wants to grab a snack, and Nina always knows the best snacks from the catering table to mix together. As a result he never goes on a snack run without her, but she’s not in any of the dressing rooms, nor is she chatting with any crew members in the halls backstage. 

Which leaves the stage and the wings. 

Brooke approaches the wings carefully, years of dance training instilling in him not to make any noise. Nina’s yellow wig is easy to spot between the curtains, and she shushes him with a hand before he can even mutter the word ‘snacks’ into her ear. She gestures to the stage, and suddenly Brooke can see why.

Vanessa.

The first and last time that Brooke had seen Vanessa perform to _‘No Drama’_ was during filming, the lip-sync with Shuga where he had fucking sang his heart out to stay. Ru had described it as magical. Brooke agreed. It was an experience so ethereal that he saw the pieces Vanessa had left of himself on the stage, the frustration and the emotions and feelings that he couldn’t keep in any longer. The release in Vanessa’s shoulders when he was told that he was staying. Brooke couldn’t tear his eyes away, couldn’t let go of Vanessa once they were off stage, holding his shaking body as he cried into his shoulder. 

Watching Vanessa right now, whipping the same leopard print caftan around the stage with so many emotions flitting across his face - anger, pain, passion - is enough to make Brooke never want to tear his eyes away. He can’t, not even while Nina is tapping his shoulder because nothing else matters, not when his force of nature (no, not his anymore, he should remember that) is on stage and creating magic again.

Does Vanessa do this every night, every tour stop? Release what’s in his heart to the audience because it’s all too heavy to carry on his own? How has Brooke never seen it before?

He only realizes that the number is done when the roar of the audience is too loud to ignore, when Vanessa grins that ever-so dazzling smile of his and takes a bow, wiping the stray tear tracks on his face.

Nina lets out a whoop beside him when Vanessa gets closer, ducks into the wings. He looks up at him with those brown eyes which always say so much without even trying, while at the same time leaving Brooke himself at a loss for words. 

_That was amazing. You’re amazing._

_I love you._

He doesn’t say any of it, breath hitching in his throat. Nina’s talking to him, to them, Vanessa’s saying things back but he doesn’t hear it. Not after the words are still washing over him, bringing down his resolve brick by brick. 

_I still love you._

**v.**

Brooke is not really sure how to deal in the aftermath. The realization that keeping Vanessa at an arm's length, staying friendly and professional is not sustainable. 

He can’t do it. 

But who is he to ask for more? When Vanessa seems okay and thriving and _happy_ and living his best life on tour? He goofs off with Silky and A’keria out of drag, voice carrying throughout the tour bus and Brooke wishes that he could be a part of it. He preens in front of thousands of fans that call his name, lighting up the stage with his smile (how can Brooke not watch every night now?) because he’s incredible and he knows it and deserves all of the praise that he gets.

It’s not like Brooke hasn’t known that he still loves Vanessa. He had said so at the reunion, he said it to Vanessa backstage away from the cameras, and every time it had been received with a pang of bitterness because of the words that Brooke _hadn’t_ said. 

That he couldn’t handle the relationship, that he wanted space and room to enjoy the post season eleven hype. That a relationship hadn’t been his highest priority. 

Funny how things change. Now Brooke is the one pining like an idiot, his love for Vanessa colouring his vision, his own performances, how much he drinks to try and forget. Vanessa is the one enjoying life, doing just fine without him. 

Nina squeezes his shoulder when he tells her about the fact that he’s completely, utterly fucked. Replies that she knew, she can tell, the entire fucking cast can tell because his big puppy eyes aren’t exactly subtle to everyone who isn’t Vanessa. 

“Tell him. He should know.” Nina’s eyes are encouraging, almost pleading. He knows that’s on him, because Vanessa makes him broody and twitchy and Nina has certainly been on the receiving end of things. He needs to fix that. 

“He’s happy now. I can’t pull him back down again.” He doesn’t want to ruin Vanessa a second time, be the cause of their destruction no matter how much his heart is telling him to do just that. 

“How do you know it won’t pull both of you back up instead?”

She has a point. 

So he plans to do so in Seattle, to at least try because doesn’t he owe himself that? Some form of closure?

It feels too strange of a term to apply to his relationship with Vanessa. Even if over, it feels like they’re constantly drawn to each other, two planets trapped within one another’s gravitational pull, to weak to separate. He’s not sure if they can ever get closure. 

But he wants to be honest. Wants Vanessa to know that he’s all in. He’s an option, if Vanessa wants it. 

The two shots of tequila that he took at the bar light up his veins, mixing with the high of another successful performance, another show ticked off the list. He weaves through the crowd, avoiding the drunken partygoers and his fellow queens out of drag enjoying yet another afterparty.

Brooke cranes his neck, listening for Vanessa’s telltale booming voice that more often than not acts like a beacon when trying to figure out where he is. It doesn’t project over the pulsing music the way that it normally does, and for a second Brooke starts to wonder whether Vanessa is still even at the bar. But then he sees him.

Leaning against a pillar, smiling up at some guy whose back is facing Brooke, but who is definitely tall and blonde. Real great. He’s fine, it doesn’t matter.

Vanessa tugs on the guy’s collar, leans in on his tiptoes to whisper something into his ear and it’s fine, really, Vanessa is allowed to do that. Brooke has no right to say anything at this point, he really doesn’t. He shouldn’t, anyway. 

Vanessa is happy. He’s moved on. He deserves to be happy. 

Why does it feel like his heart is being torn apart, then?

He’s not sure how long he stands there, frozen, his feet lead bricks that drag down, down, down, into the core of the earth, unable to move. Though when Vanessa leans in and the guy wraps an arm around his waist and cups Vanessa’s face and kisses him, the ground lets go of Brooke. His feet are moving and he has to go, get out, past the other sweaty bodies and into the cool air because he needs to breathe in something other than the matching ugly tastes of jealousy and yearning that poison his insides. 

He’s not going to say anything. 

**\+ i.**

Brooke bangs his fist on the glass of the vending machine, trying to make the can of pop fall from the precarious position that it is currently wedged in. It doesn’t budge. 

The side of his hand hits it one more time with a thud, rests there as he leans his forehead against the glass, lets out a growl. He needs the caffeine, the sugar. Of course he’d pick the one that gets stuck. Typical. 

“What you looking so pressed for, Mami?”

Fuck _._ Not now. He doesn’t want to deal with Vanessa, with the way that he rips his heart clean open, not now. 

He’s just managed to push everything back down to where it is supposed to be. The last few tour stops he’s kept himself away from Vanessa, focusing on his performances and his mug and taking all of the extra shots that are offered to him because he can. 

So what if Nina looks at him with that look in her eyes laced with pity, the one often accompanied by a pat on his shoulder and an apology? There’s nothing to be sorry for. He’s fine. 

He is. 

He can put himself into tiny neat boxes, keep himself compartmentalized during this tour the way that he knows how. 

But Vanessa standing directly behind him, saying his name with a soft voice is enough to spill all of the contents of the boxes out onto the ground for everyone to see. 

“The can is stuck.” Hell, if Brooke’s going to feel like he’s dying while he talks to Vanessa, he may as well get him to help retrieve his drink.

“Lemme try.” Vanessa brushes past, hand pushing Brooke back slightly so that he can take his spot in front of the machine, and the touch feels like it’s burning into his chest. Not that Vanessa notices. 

Vanessa’s small fist hits the glass, trying to shake the can. “C’mon!” 

It’s enough to make Brooke nearly crack a smile. He loves listening to Vanessa. Sue him. 

“Fuck this shit.” Vanessa reaches into his pocket, then, pulling out some change and stuffing it into the vending machine. “Come on, come on, come on.” 

The can falls as the metal in the machine turns, makes another can fall right after it. Vanessa lets out a whoop. “There you go, bitch.” 

But he doesn’t care about the pop cans anymore, not when Vanessa’s fingers graze the inside of his wrist and send a lick of flames up his arm, lighting it on fire. Vanessa’s hand lingers, dragging down against Brooke’s palm, his fingers, brushing against each other like they’re not going to explode at any second. 

Brooke looks at him. Vanessa’s looking right back up with a defiant set in his jaw, his eyebrows raised as if he’s waiting for Brooke to say something. 

“Don’t.” One word is what Brooke can get out right now. 

“Don’t what?” Infuriating. Absolutely infuriating. 

His breath hitches when Vanessa’s fingers trace up his arm.

“You don’t get to do that anymore.”

“This?” Vanessa’s nails, lightly pressing into his skin.

Fuck it. Fuck any other guys, fuck keeping himself safe in pretty boxes. It doesn’t work, anyway. Not with Vanessa.

“If you’re going to touch me, then touch me like you mean it.”

It’s all Vanessa needs; Brooke’s back hits the vending machine and the glass is cold but he doesn’t care. Vanessa’s on his tiptoes, wrapping his arms around his neck and biting at his lower lip and it’s like no time has passed at all, nothing has changed. 

Except it has and Brooke’s brain is still travelling at a million miles per hour because it’s happening, this is happening, it’s fucked but he doesn’t care. 

He uses his core strength to push himself off of the vending machine and flips them around, cradling the back of Vanessa’s head before it hits the glass. Brooke presses biting kisses to his skin, the column of his neck and behind his ear and his whine makes him push a knee between Vanessa’s legs, makes his dick twitch when Vanessa immediately grinds against it. 

He pulls back, suddenly, because there’s so much to say that he hasn’t in so long and he _needs_ to, and how can he do this without being clear?

“Do you know how hard it is to try and get over you? To forget you?” He punctuates his sentences with a hand raking up Vanessa’s sides, feels him shudder. “I can’t. I fucking can’t. I can’t do it.” 

Vanessa chases his mouth, whines when Brooke pulls back. “Then don’t. Why do you insist on making this shit difficult?”

“Because you deserve more. More than this.” It’s bitter, it’s empty, accompanying the nip that Brooke dots on his jaw. 

“You ain’t getting it, are you?” Vanessa tugs on his belt loops, somehow pulls him in closer than they already are. “I don’t want nothing else. Tried to. But I only want your sad ass.” 

Brooke tugs on his hair. “I’m not sad.” He’s not.

“Yeah, you are. Sad little puppy eyes is what you have. Now get over your bullshit. If you think I deserve more and you’re gonna keep pouting like that, then show me. Be it.” 

Vanessa knows exactly what he’s doing. Brooke can tell. Sees it in the challenge on his face, the raise of his eyebrows. The way Vanessa lifts his head up slightly, dares him to come closer again. 

So he does. 

**Author's Note:**

> Find me at @plastiquetiaras on tumblr!


End file.
